Unholy Trinity
by Sabriel41
Summary: A crumbling piece of clay, a fragile purple flower, and an invisible mask tie the Bahbem children together. [Makoto, Itsuki, Helena.]
1. Makoto

**Unholy Trinity**

_o . _

i. Makoto

. o .

Itsuki always said that magic things came in threes. Wishes, fates…

"…Children?" Makoto had murmured nervously, eyes desperate for _something._

The dark-haired boy had sighed and muttered something under his breath before walking away. It had stung a little, but Makoto bit his lip and smiled at the fact that his question had not been denied outright.

They _were_ special, he swore, and not just for the letters that were always slapped beside their names. Even the prissy blonde, Helena. Even if they just needed her to complete the Trinity (which was a fancy word he'd picked up from one of Itsuki's books when the older boy was in a charitable mood. Makoto loved it, because it rang of something bittersweet and ancient. Something _powerful_.)

Power.

He was going to be powerful someday. He would rule the world and show all those bastards who dared dismiss him with a scornful "D" that he, Makoto Isshiki, was not so easily shrugged aside. Itsuki and Helena could help him, if they wanted, but maybe he would make Helena beg first – favored first shining child, pristine stockings and polished shoes scuffed and dirty as she knelt in apology and supplication and he could almost taste her defeat –

He hated Helena with what bookish Itsuki would have called the fires of a thousand passions. Makoto didn't want to waste enough breath to say it all, so he just said he hated her and let his glare, already so poisonous, do the rest. Hated the easy way she could twist his words and his ears with equal viciousness and get away with it every time.

But he had found a place she hadn't to escape when the names she heaped on him managed to dig their way under his pale skin. It was miles beneath the manor, or so it seemed – dark and twisting and utterly peaceful. His, from the crumbling staircases to the fractured Dolem he was nursing back to life.

She hadn't stolen it yet; he knew because if she had, he would never be allowed to go back.

Childish fists clenching tightly in anger, he swore that she never would.

She could steal everything else - she already had – the praise and the spotlight and the bulk of Itsuki's attention. This place, this haven, was _his_.

His.

He liked the sound of that.

_. o ._

_fin the first._

_. o ._


	2. Itsuki

**Unholy Trinity **

_. o ._

_ii. Itsuki_

_. o ._

Absently tracing the petals of a beautiful violet blossom, Itsuki looked out at the horizon. He had always appreciated the quiet beauty to the seaside; thought that there was something magical about the blend of sea and sky. There was something inexplicably fascinating about how the two elements touched without touching in this world where everything was compartmentalized to the tiniest degree.

Thoughts of Haruka swept to his mind unbidden; thoughts of her had been more prominent as of late, ever since she had brought a young stranger upon these shores, effectively deconstructing Itsuki's insular lifestyle. A stranger that was no stranger to either Haruka or himself, though it seemed that Ayato hadn't put all the pieces together yet. In any case, there was a reason that Haruka was keeping her identity a secret from the younger man, but Itsuki was in no position to ask why. He had learned at a very early age the immeasurable price and advantage of silence.

Slipping off his shoes and letting the sand run through his toes as he stood and started to pace along the length of the beach, he wondered bitterly why silence was all that he was holding, these days…

Remembering the last dance that they had shared, an awkward, beautiful waltz at his Christmas party the previous year, he smiled absently. She had danced a lively swing this year with Ayato, swinging skirts and shining hair and this time she'd been the awkward one as his brother – his _brother!_ – smiled down at the woman that _he_ loved with youthful certainty and affection.

Cursing softly at the direction of his thoughts, Itsuki cast his gaze once more to the horizon. Storm clouds were gathering; it would be time to head back soon.

Yet he lingered, eyes seeking something he couldn't quite name.

Itsuki had read as a child that the sea had the power to steal and soothe one's painful memories. It was one of the few beliefs he chose to hold on to in the wake of his disappointed boyhood and those frantic, fateful days that led to the creation of Tokyo Jupiter and the carefully cloistered years which followed.

Convenient, then, that Nirai Kanai was an island.

_. o ._

…_fin the second._

_. o ._


	3. Helena

**Unholy Trinity**

_. o ._

_iii. Helena_

_. o ._

Fitting, that the last words you spoke to me were indecipherable; you had the worst habit of mumbling, Uncle.

I can say this now. I'm the voice in the back of your head – _my_ head – that you can never be rid of. Or is it that you have infested mine, a condition that I am none too thrilled to be a part of? This – this was never part of the plan, Uncle. I was to rise to power on my own wings; this is insane. _You_ are insane.

It… worries me that Itsuki and Motoko never truly noticed a difference. Itsuki suspects. Suspected. He's always been the smarter of the two, hasn't he? Not that it matters now. I'm not sure if it is your laughter or mine that bubbles over my lips as the altar windows are shot out, as he tumbles to the ground, as that ridiculous assistant of his joins him, sprawled on the tiles. Still, to think that I spent a childhood – a stunted, guarded, impeccably rigid childhood but a childhood nonetheless, Uncle – with these boys and they still cannot tell that another inhabits the body of their childhood companion…

They think what they will of me; I wish it was me that they looked at, even with scorn, but the part of your research that you kept from me, your catalyst, your horrific final attempt towards immortality have made this no longer the case. Anyone would have run from this half-life, Uncle, even I – despite my loyalty to the project, to you, I would have escaped if I had truly suspected that your selfishness could run _this_ deep. Foolish girl; I had thought your request was yet another test, but I was wrong... _oh,_ I was wrong...

Don't misunderstand me, Uncle; I haven't stopped trying to escape.

As blood drips through your clenched fingers in a pitiful attempt to hold me together, I realise with cold satisfaction that I may even succeed this time.

_. o ._

_this is the passing of all shining things  
no lingering no backward-  
wondering be unto  
us O _

soul,but straight  
glad feet fearruining  
and glorygirded  
faces

lead us  
into the  
serious  
steep

darkness

_. o ._

_fin the third._

_. o ._

**_Sabe's Scribbles:_** The Trinity lies complete, now. A very belated but no less happy Christmas wish goes out to the talented and patient **cendrillo**, who waited far too long for all of this to come together... the final quote is from e. e. cummings' "The Glory is Fallen Out Of" - fitting, for Helena. For all three of the Bahbem children, really. That said, thanks for reading!


End file.
